


Amor Viam Invenient

by fanoftheknight



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys is a very wealthy woman, F/M, Homeless!Jorah, HorseWhisperer!Jorah, Jorah does manly things with his big manly hands, There will probably be quite a bit of angst, Work In Progress, handyman!Jorah, modern-ish AU, wood worker Jorah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: “Legend has it there is always a reason why souls meet. Maybe they found each other for reasons that weren't so different after all.They were two souls searching and found a home lost in each other. When souls find comfort in one another separation is not possible. The reasons they are brought together are no accident.Maybe she needed someone to show her how to live and he needed someone to show him how to love.”N.R. Hart, Poetry and Pearls
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 186
Kudos: 174





	1. Let Me Look Upon My Saviour's Face

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I am going a little against my own writing rules here and posting this without knowing how long it will end up being or what might happen much past the first 'act' of this story.
> 
> I know I have promised sequels to Mr. Starfucks, More Than Words, and the Indiana Jorleesi stories and I may end up working on them at the same time as this new AU story (oh, I also have an ongoing Jack Taylor story and my collaboration with the amazing RileyPotter and I'm sure it'll be a cinch to juggle five or six stories at once...)
> 
> Tags and characters will be added as we go, but I hope you enjoy chapter one of this new AU story that is set in an as of yet undetermined century, but let's just say that it is definitely set after GoT's time/century.

Daenerys Targaryen let out a satisfied sigh as she made her way down the street. The sun was in the midst of setting and it felt good to not be constantly surrounded by other people. Perhaps it was not the wisest move, but she told Barristan that she would find her own way back to her palatial home. He didn’t need to know that she’d decided to walk back alone.

Perhaps it was unfair to be churlish about it, but her name and the wealth she amassed meant that there would always be somewhat of a target on her back, so much so that it would be deemed foolish for her not to have someone guarding her against any possible threats when she was out in public.

Although Daenerys understood the reasoning, it didn’t make it any less claustrophobic to be surrounded by an armed detail any time she wished to leave the grounds of her large and stately home. Since the death of her parents and her older brothers, Daenerys could never wander too far away from her security detail and she had almost come to resent their stifling presence in her life.

The journey home would take her through some of the less affluent areas of the town and seeing the sheer number of homeless people cowering from the rain in alleyways and storefronts only served to remind her of just how lucky she was. She would never need to beg for food or look for cover as the biting winter wind cut through the air. She would never be one of those poor, unfortunate souls who would shake and shiver their way through the cold and lonely nights.

She reached those poor, desolate areas of the town just as the sun sank below the horizon and it seemed that when the sun died, it took every inch of warmth with it. Perhaps she was letting her mind run away with her and was being foolish, but the darker and poorer areas of town seemed much colder and more unforgiving than those areas bathed in the soft glow of the main street.

Steeling herself, Daenerys took a deep breath and kept her eyes ahead, knowing that if she made eye contact with any of those poor, homeless wretches, that she would be compelled to thrust money upon them in the hope they would spend it on safe lodgings and not on the drugs and booze that were rife in this area of town. 

One look back and she knew she would be lost.

She willed her ears not to listen to the sound of grown men and women, shivering and groaning, many of whom had probably not eaten anything substantial in days. Maybe some of them had forgone food in favour of drugs or drink and she could hardly blame them. A full stomach wouldn’t help you get through the freezing depths of winter but being blind drunk or high might mean a semi-decent night of sleep once you passed out.

Daenerys heard what sounded like footsteps behind her before dismissing the thought and telling herself that she was being foolish and imagining things. None of the people cowering in the dark were interested in her or what she was doing.

Or so she thought.

A dirty hand seemed to come out of nowhere and land on her shoulder and suddenly Daenerys felt her handbag being pulled from her shoulder. She gasped as she turned to face her attacker and realised that he had a rusty but still sharp-looking knife in his hand.

“Give it to me, bitch,” the homeless man snarled. His face was covered in either dirt or bruises, she couldn’t tell which, and he had only a handful of teeth remaining in his mouth. But it was his eyes that scared her. The look in those eyes was so feral that she doubted there was much humanity left in him at all.

Perhaps foolishly, she held onto her bag tighter as he continued to tug at the long leather strap.

“Give the bag to me or I’ll cut you,” the man said as he raised the knife to her face.

She flinched and closed her eyes, waiting for the homeless man to strike her and she prayed that if he was going to kill her, that he would make it quick.

Eyes closed, she heard an ‘oof’ and suddenly the grip on her handbag went slack. Opening her eyes, she was shocked to find someone grappling with her attacker, who still had the knife in his hand and was trying to hack at the person holding him down.

A wiser person might have run and never looked back, but Daenerys stood rooted to the spot as she watched her saviour finally gain the upper hand and punch her attacker several times in the face until he stopped moving.

“Thank you,” she said shakily, realising that if the stranger hadn’t come to her aid, she might be dead right now.

The shadowy figure said nothing, but she could see that they were holding their right arm as they stayed on their knees on the dirty ground.

“I don’t know how to repay you, but I owe you my life,” she said, placing a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, quickly removing it as the figure flinched and tried to move away.

A small amount of light from the busy streets outside illuminated part of the stranger’s face and she could see from their outline that her saviour was a man with a long and unkempt beard. He appeared to have broad shoulders that were covered by a coat that had more holes than cloth. His hair was long and straggly and the smell emanating from him told her that he’d not washed for a considerable time.

“You should go,” the man said, his voice textured like a fine whiskey. “It isn’t safe here.”

Some of the other homeless wretches were beginning to look their way and Daenerys had no desire to have someone else attempt to attack her, yet the man kneeling on the ground was still clutching his arm and taking shaky breaths that misted in the dewy night sky. He might have saved her from her attacker, but he was hurt in doing so.

She slowly took another step towards the man and touched his shoulder once more, hoping that he would not move away from her.

“At least let me look upon you so that I might know my saviour’s face,” she said gently.

The bearded man moved his head away from her, attempting to hide it in the darkness.

“Mine is not a face you should gaze upon, ma’am,” the man answered with shame lacing his tone. “You’ll find nothing good there,” he warned her, although he stayed still as a statue as she slowly reached out and gently held his chin, turning his face so that she could look upon him.

Underneath the unkempt hair and straggly beard were the bluest eyes she had ever gazed upon in her life. The man’s face was haggard and worn, his eyes sunken and cheekbones pronounced, making it clear that he’d not had a decent meal in a very long time. His clothes were dirty rags and the boots he wore had holes in both the leather and the soles. He was dirty and dishevelled and the smell of him made her stomach roll, but there was something about those eyes of his - when she looked into those eyes, it felt like she had met this man before, perhaps in a different time or place. There was something about him that made her feel safe.

There were so many things that she wanted to ask him, and she knew within herself that she was compelled to help him. No matter how he had ended up in such a sorry state, there was something about him that drew her closer. He could have been any one of a hundred different homeless people, but he had come to her rescue and saved her from someone who meant her harm.

He was a good man; of that she was sure.

She held a hand up and winced as something lit up the darkened street and she could get a good look at her saviour’s face now that it was bathed in light. She wanted to ask his name, but he scrambled quickly to his feet as the light fell upon him and ran away into the darkness far quicker than she would have believed for a man of his height.

“Miss Targaryen?” Barristan, her trusted advisor called out. “Are you safe?” He asked as he jogged towards her. “What on earth are you doing in this part of town?”

She felt like shouting at Barristan for scaring him off, she wanted to ask the man his name at least, but she knew that her advisor was merely doing his job and she had been the one foolish enough to decide to walk home in the dark on her own.

She allowed Barristan to walk her to the safety of the main street but she found herself thinking of nothing but the blue-eyed man who had come to her rescue. 

She needed to know who he was so that she might somehow repay him for the kindness he’d showed her.


	2. Her Gentle Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for posting this so late. Let's just say that I haven't had a very good week...

_She tumbled to the ground as the dragon shrieked and took to the sky once more._

_She realised that she was alone, surrounded by dozens of undead ghouls, all of them brandishing weapons, circling around her. It would only be a matter of time before they swooped in for the kill._

_The man she thought she loved was nowhere to be seen and she realised that she would die alone out here._

_No one was coming to save her._

_And then he appeared out of nowhere. The man who had never once let her down. The man who had fought for her, killed for her…_

_She felt herself being pushed out of the way, watching on as he swung the huge sword with one hand, cutting through a swathe of the undead as if they were nothing. He was taking them all on, but for every ghoul he slaughtered, two more arrived in their place. They were stranded out there on the battlefield, the enemy was closing in. It would be impossible, even for him, to fight them off from all sides._

_And so she picked up a sword and fought with him, despite never having wielded a blade in her life._

_She saw that several blades had already found a target in his body. She watched the blood spill as he pushed her out the way and took another blow meant for her. Despite her best efforts, he took blade after blade, his defences opening in an effort to shield her from the dead._

_She saw him fall._

_Her heart stopped as he pulled himself to his feet, continuing to fight. To defend her from the enemy who wanted to kill them both._

_He fell again, this time a blade entered his side. She heard his groan of pain._

_He rose to his feet once more, his only thought - protecting the woman he loved from anyone who meant her harm._

_This time a blade found the centre of his chest. He fell to his hands and knees and she knew that this time… this time he would no longer be able to pull himself back to his feet._

_He stumbled and faltered and yet somehow…somehow he pulled himself up with his sword and fought to protect her, but he was losing the battle to stay on his feet as more blades made contact with his flesh and she knew that if he died, she would follow him soon after._

_And then everything stopped._

_The enemy they were fighting fell to the ground. She smiled at triumphantly at him._

_They had won._

_Her smile faltered as he dropped first to his knees and then to his back._

_She was by his side in an instant, cradling his head as he struggled to say something. She could see the blood dripping from his lips._

_He was dying._

_She knew then that she had to tell him before it was too late. She had to let him know that she loved him. Not as a queen for her knight, she loved him, body and soul, the way that he loved her._

_The light in his eyes faded as his body went limp._

_He was dead._

_He had died and she had never told him the words he deserved to hear._

_She loved him._

_She would never be able to tell him and right then, in that moment, it broke her._

Daenerys shot up in bed, her breath heaving and sweat dripping down her face. She had dreamed about him again - the man who saved her life in the darkened alleyway. The scenes might have been different each night, but it was the bearded stranger who always ran to her rescue and saved her life. Each dream would always end in the same way - he would die saving her.

Daenerys pulled herself slowly from her bed, determined that today would be the day that she would find the man with the blue eyes.

Several days had already passed and despite the best efforts of Barristan, Grey and herself, she had yet to find the homeless stranger who risked his life to protect her. Surely he was still in the town somewhere? He was injured, how far could he have gone?

It was the same theme each night. She dreamed of him every night since they met in that dirty, dark alleyway.

She wasn’t foolish or girlish enough to get wrapped up in fantasies or fairy tales, but at the same time she knew that there was something different about this man… There was something within her that instinctively knew that they were destined to meet again.

Each evening since then, she returned to her large, expansive home disappointed that their search for the mysterious man had once again come to nothing.

She was determined that she would find him today. In her mind, there was simply no other choice.

* * *

Dusk was almost upon them and twice she ignored Barristan’s pleading for them to head home for the night. The temperature had dropped far below zero and snow was starting to dust the ground around them.

“One more hour,” Daenerys pleaded, somehow knowing that she would find the bearded stranger tonight.

They traipsed through more dirty alleyways, shinning a torchlight on the shadowy figures on the ground, all of whom were trying to keep warm with the pitiful amount of clothing they owned.

_Where are you?_ She thought to herself. Why would he hide from her, surely he knew that she meant him no harm?

“Ma’am,” Barristan called out, shining his torch on something unmoving. She carefully made her way over to his side.

A tatty blanket covered what appeared to be the shape of a body. Daenerys shone her own torch and spotted the same boots that the bearded stranger wore when he came to her rescue. 

She kneeled down closer to him, moving the blanket slightly. Even though his eyes were closed, she recognised his face in an instant.

It was him - the man who saved her.

She shook him gently by the shoulder, frowning when he didn’t respond.

“Sir?” She said, shaking his shoulder once more. It was then she felt how cold he was, and her eyes widened when she saw the blue tinge to his lips.

She opened her mouth to ask, but Barristan already had his fingers placed on the man’s neck. 

“He’s alive but I daresay he has hypothermia,” he said quietly. “I don’t think he’ll last the night if the temperature drops any further.”

She nodded her head, having no intention of leaving the man like this. She hadn’t spent days searching for him to let the cruel winter nights take him from her.

“Grey, help Barristan carry him,” she instructed, her eyes never leaving the unmoving figure on the floor. “We shall take him back to the house and send for Doctor Tarly.”

Barristan gave her one of those looks that meant he would say something she didn’t want to hear, but he had always been wise and a voice of reason, helping her reach her goals and heeding her against any action he thought unwise.

“Daenerys, we may already be too late,” he cautioned her.

He rarely used her first name and more often than not called her ‘Miss Targaryen’ or ‘Ma’am’, as befitting of her standing in society. It was only when they were alone or when Barristan felt he was delivering bad news that he would use her given name, but never when they had company.

“We have to try,” she replied, determined to save the bearded stranger. “At the very least, he does not deserve to die on some cold and dirty street. Not after what he did for me. I owe him a warm bed and comfortable surroundings at the very least.”

Barristan said nothing and merely nodded his head, knowing that the young woman he’d dedicated his life to protecting for the last twenty years had a gentle heart and would want to do what she could for the stranger.

Yet she knew nothing about this man - where he came from, what his story was, or whether he was indeed a good man. She’d been in his company for mere minutes and had been solely focused on finding the stranger ever since.

Barristan knew her well enough to realise that it was futile to try to sway her once her mind had been made up. She would do as she pleased, regardless of what he said or how he cautioned her against it.

Her determination and self-belief had seen her become a respected figure across the land who had amassed great political power and fortune. She was no naive little girl and those who underestimated her did so at their peril.

Daenerys Targaryen was a woman wise beyond her seemingly tender years and he only hoped that her decision to help the bearded stranger would not be one that she would ultimately come to regret.


	3. Save Him, No Matter the Cost

Daenerys stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, biting her bottom lip as she watched Barristan and Grey carry the unconscious man into the large and spacious room before laying him gently on the bed.

“Doctor Tarly is on his way,” Grey said, standing back from the bed, his back ram-rod straight as had been drilled into him throughout his time in the military. “Missandei is bringing extra sheets and hot water.”

Daenerys nodded her head, keeping her attention on the man lying on the bed who had showed no signs of awareness since they’d found him in the dirty alleyway. She hoped that they were not too late to save the bearded stranger.

Soon the room became a hive of activity as Missandei entered with several bowls of hot water, closely followed by Daenerys’ old friend, Doctor Samwell Tarly.

The doctor peeled back the sheet covering the unmoving man, nodding his head and tapping a finger on his chin.

“First of all, we need to remove his clothes and see what we’re looking at in terms of treatment,” the doctor said.

Daenerys took a step forward, frowning.

“But he is already so cold, surely that will not help?” She questioned.

Doctor Tarly glanced at her briefly before answering.

“These rags are more holes than cloth and we need to see what condition he’s in underneath,” he replied, pointing to the bearded man’s right arm where blood had soaked through what remained of his coat. “We’ll need to clean him up and new, warmer clothes will help fight off the chill better than these old threads.”

Daenerys nodded stiffly, her concern for the unconscious man clear.

“I trust your judgement, Doctor,” she said, stepping away and allowing him to do what he needed to.

She found herself holding her breath as Doctor Tarly attempted to remove the man’s boots. It took a little tugging, but when they finally came free, Daenerys was not prepared for what she saw underneath.

What little that was left of the man’s socks were soaked in blood and stuck to the bruised and peeling flesh with the smell emanating from the old leather boots enough to make her stomach turn.

She watched on silently as the doctor, assisted by his nurse and wife Gilly, set about cutting away and removing what was left of the man’s clothes, washing and cleaning the skin they found beneath in order to get a better look at any wounds he might have.

Daenerys was glad when Doctor Tarly finished his inspection of the stranger’s lower body and covered his sore, bleeding and swollen feet, although she knew her friend would have to treat and bind them with bandages once his first inspection of the man’s body was complete.

“Looks like someone tried treating the wound on his abdomen,” Doctor Tarly mused, pulling gently at the rag tied roughly around the man’s stomach. “It’s infected and needs cleaning and treating,” he continued as he pulled at the wound, frowning at the swelling and pus that gently oozed from it.

The wound on the man’s right arm appeared to be in much the same condition and Daenerys thought she’d seen the worst of the wounds that ailed the bearded stranger, but it was only when Doctor Tarly instructed Barristan and Grey to roll the man on to his side that she was aware of the myriad of scars that littered his back.

She caught sight of the look between Barristan and Grey, both former military men. She would question them on it later, but it was obvious that the bearded stranger had been mistreated at some point in his life.

Daenerys did not move from the spot as she watched her friend Sam Tarly and his wife Gilly methodically wipe away layers of dirt from the stranger’s body before cleaning, treating and wrapping any wounds and sores that they found. Gilly cut away the long, matted hair from the man’s head as best she could in his unconscious state, but a proper haircut would have to wait. Next, Gilly set to trimming the man’s overgrown beard and once cut back to a manageable amount of stubble, Daenerys was surprised to find that her saviour had a handsome face with strong cheekbones and jaw.

“Will he live?” Daenerys asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Doctor Tarly looked up from his patient to answer her.

“He’s got a nasty case of frostbite and the wounds on his stomach and arm are badly infected. He’s malnourished and hypothermic, too.”

“But you can treat that?” She asked, praying that Sam could work his magic once more.

“We’ll need to warm him up carefully. If we do it too soon, it could send his body into shock,” Sam replied, before instructing his wife to bring more bedsheets and several hot water bottles. “Once we’ve warmed him up it’s likely that fever will take hold due to his wounds, so we’ll need to change the dressings regularly. It should at least give him a fighting chance of beating the infection.”

“Do whatever it takes to help him,” Daenerys instructed, her eyes never leaving the man lying on the bed. “No matter the cost.”

“You misunderstand,” Sam replied gently. “It is not a case of cost. I will happily do all I can for him, but you must know that his time on the streets has left him far from healthy. It could be that his body does not have the strength to fight off the infection. He is half-starved and dehydrated on top of everything else.”

“Then we must do everything in our power to save him,” Daenerys said resolutely, and Sam knew from experience that his old friend would stop at nothing to do whatever she felt was right and would not be swayed once she’d made up her mind to do something.

* * *

Daenerys sat with the bearded stranger as and when her time and duties allowed her throughout those first few days. Although Doctor Tarly made encouraging sounds when visiting his patient to check his wounds and change the dressings, Daenerys couldn’t help but wish the man would wake up so that she could ask him his name. She wanted to know more about the stranger who came to her rescue and continued to fill her dreams at night.

“Ma’am,” Barristan, entering the room and bowing his head slightly to her.

“Do you have new information?” She asked, glancing down at the man in the bed.

“I have been asking around and reaching out to some of the men I knew in the military and I am almost certain that this man was held against his will at some point, either as a political prisoner or a prisoner of war.”

Daenerys inhaled sharply as she took in her advisor’s words. Someone had mistreated this man badly, but for what reason?

“If he fought your attacker off in the way you’ve described, I would bet my life on this man having some sort of military experience,” Barristan said, pointing down at the figure in the bed. “Although it is difficult to say what brought him to be living on the streets or for us to find him in such a poor condition.” Barristan took a step closer to the bed and looked at Daenerys hesitantly. “If I may be so bold, I think you should be cautious with this man. We do not know what has been done to him or how he may react when he wakes. You may think him to be a gentle and kind, but war changes a man, and he may not realise that we mean him no harm. If he has suffered in the way I think he has, he may not be able to distinguish between friend and foe, particularly in a fevered state.”

The sweat had already begun beading on the stranger’s forehead and Daenerys knew that it would not be long before a fever raged through his body - one that would twist both fantasy and reality in such a way that he would not be able to discern between the two.

“I appreciate your wise council,” Daenerys replied, dabbing a cool cloth over the bearded man’s forehead. “I will send for help if I need it.”

Barristan knew that he was being dismissed from her presence and so nodded and backed out of the room. Once outside, he instructed several of his men to take shifts standing outside the stranger’s room, ready to take action if needed.


	4. The Man Who Saved My Life

Daenerys’ need for sleep overcame her desire to sit and tend to the bearded stranger, so she left his care in the hands of the people who worked for her. 

She was woken suddenly from her sleep by an almighty barrage of noise and what sounded like a man shouting.

Instinct told her that it was the man lying injured in one of the bedrooms down the hall. She grabbed her dressing gown and rushed to the room the noise was emanating from with Barristan following closely behind.

Daenerys’ eyes widened when she saw that the bearded stranger’s wrists were stretched away from his body as he attempted to yank them free from the cloth that bound him to the sides of the bed.

She felt herself being moved roughly out of the way by Barristan who bellowed at the people that were meant to be caring for the injured man.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, setting about untying the man’s wrists.

“He was confused and agitated, sir,” a young man replied. “We thought he might hurt someone…or himself,” the boy added quietly at the fearsome stare Barristan gave him.

“Get out of my sight,” Barristan growled. “I will deal with you later.”

“Please,” the bearded stranger begged, opening his eyes for the first time. 

Barristan could see that the man’s blue eyes were still clouded with fever and his skin was hot to the touch.

“You’re safe,” Barristan said, trying to reassure the ailing man. “No one will harm you.”

“Please…don’t…” the man pleaded.

Daenerys moved into his line of sight and he flinched slightly when she placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

“You have been quite unwell, sir,” she told him patiently, aware that if she moved too quickly she might scare the injured man. “You have a fever, but we are treating your wounds. “No one will harm you; you have my word.”

She was about to ask his name when she saw his eyes flutter shut and his head fall to the side, whispering something that her ears could not pick up. She watched Barristan as he readjusted the sheet covering the man and checked for damage to his wrists where the cloth had bound them to the bed frame. He carefully placed them back down to the man’s sides, as gentle as if he were handling a new-born baby. It was a side of her advisor that she did not often see.

“I will fire the boy who bound his wrists,” Barristan said darkly.

“Surely he was only doing what he felt was right,” Daenerys replied.

The speed with which Barristan raised his head and pinned her with a look made her jump.

“His captors will have bound his wrists before they mistreated him. He knows no different in his fevered state and would believe that his tormentors were back for more. There is no such terror as that of being bound and helpless, ma’am. Things that they do not speak of in the books you read. War is dirty and evil; it turns men into beasts when you put a weapon in their hand. It strips them of their humanity and they will do things to their fellow man that you could never imagine.”

She looked down at the sleeping man, hoping that his fever would soon break, and that he would realise that they meant him no harm.

* * *

Daenerys returned to the stranger’s bedside the next day, and the day after that, as the fever raged through his emaciated body. There were times when she feared that he would succumb to his wounds before she’d even got a chance to know anything about the man who saved her life.

She was glancing over an accounts ledger when Grey knocked on the door of her office to inform her that the bearded man was finally awake.

She had to stop herself from running up the stairs and into the his room, and instead walked purposefully towards the door, the pace of her walking belying the eagerness with which she wanted to reach his side.

As she entered the room, she saw Doctor Tarly re-bandaging the man’s injured arm and placing the back of his hand own the man’s forehead to check for any lingering signs of the fever that had ailed him for several days.

The doctor gave her an encouraging smile.

“His fever has broken,” he told her as he gathered up his supplies and tucked his satchel under his arm. “The dressings will need changing twice a day and he’ll need to stay on bed rest for the time being, but he’s progressing well.”

She nodded her gratitude to her old friend.

“Thank you, Sam. You have done me a great service.”

Sam shrugged modestly at the compliment.

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said as he left the room. “I’ll be back later to change the dressings again.”

Daenerys made her way slowly over to the injured man who was lying in bed with his upper body propped up by a number of pillows. He looked tired and drawn and although the fever had broken, there was a long way to go before he could be considered healthy and well again.

“I imagine you must have many questions,” Daenerys said, motioning to the chair by the bed, silently asking his permission to sit down.

He nodded his head but avoided eye contact with her.

She picked up the pitcher of water and poured a cup before handing it to him. She watched as he took it from her with a shaking hand and held it to his lips and drinking deeply from it.

“My name is Daenerys,” she said softly. “May I ask yours?”

The stranger handed her back the cup and wrung his hands together nervously.

“You are safe here, I promise you,” Daenerys said, trying to reassure him. “I only wish to know your name, nothing more.”

He stayed silent for a number of moments before speaking in barely a whisper.

“My name is Jorah,” he said, still avoiding her gaze as his head remained bowed.

“And your last name?” She probed.

“Mormont,” he whispered.

“Jorah Mormont,” she repeated, testing the sound of his name on her own lips. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Daenerys Targaryen.” She frowned when he did not respond. “You may ask me any questions of your own if you like. I am sure that you have many.”

She watched as he opened and closed his mouth several times before finally speaking.

“Where am I?”

“You are in my home,” she answered gently. “You were most unwell when we found you and you’ve been under my personal physician’s care since then. He has treated and cleaned your wounds but says that you must rest in bed for several days yet.”

“Why did you help me?” He asked quietly.

She made to take his hand gently in her own and was dismayed when he pulled away, still refusing to look at her and hanging his head in what she assumed was shame. What had been done to this poor man to break him so?

“Because you saved my life, Jorah Mormont,” she answered him. “If you had not come to my aid in that alleyway…anything could have happened. You risked your life to save mine and I have spent every day since looking for you so that I might thank you for your bravery and valour.”

She saw him visibly tense at her words.

“I am neither brave nor valiant, ma’am,” he replied, screwing his eyes shut. “I must go,” he said, reaching out a shaky hand to remove the bedsheet. 

She stopped his movement with little effort.

“Where would you go, Jorah?” She asked him gently. She watched as he bit on his bottom lip, knowing that he had no home of his own to speak of. “Where is home for you?”

She felt her heart clench as he bit back a sob at her question. Wherever ‘home’ was he had likely not seen it for the longest time.

“I would like it very much if you were to stay here and recover and so I can get to know the man who saved my life a little better.”

“I do not think that a good idea, ma’am,” Jorah said quietly, wringing his hands together.

“I feel that I should be the judge of that,” she replied, noticing that he was struggling to keep his eyes open. “For now, I wish you to rest and let us take care of you. Everything else can wait.”

She was surprised when he allowed her to help him back down to the pillows and cover him with the sheet.

“We will talk more once you are rested, Jorah Mormont,” she smiled as she watched his eyes drift shut.


	5. The Kindness of Strangers

The gentle knock at the door startled him, but Jorah did his best to hide it as the young woman with caramel skin and curly black hair popped her head around the door.

Even though he was wearing pyjamas, he felt naked and uncomfortable under her gaze and pulled the bedsheet higher up to cover as much of his body as possible.

“Miss Targaryen wishes to know if you feel well enough to have breakfast with her this morning, Mr. Mormont,” the kind young woman said. “May I enter and leave you some clothes so that you can dress?”

He nodded his head but avoided making eye contact with her, just as he had each time the young woman with the white hair visited him day after day during his convalescence. He wasn’t sure why she was so interested in a vagrant like him, but he’d been far too fatigued to give it much thought until now.

“I shall return shortly to cut your hair, if that’s ok?” The young woman asked.

He nodded his head once more, realising that he probably looked a fearful sight. It had been years since he’d seen his reflection staring back at him with any sense of pride or nobility. No one would want to gaze upon such a mess for too long.

He pulled himself from the bed slowly, feeling the pull of the stitches on his abdomen. He winced and hissed audibly as his still sore feet touched the floor. He gazed down to find them wrapped in bandages and knew the pain would be more tolerable the more he got used to the feeling of his feet on the floor.

He limped over to the chair that the young lady had laid the clothes upon and set about dressing himself, firstly pulling on the beige pants and then shrugging into the pale blue button-up shirt, surprised to find that his skin was far cleaner than he remembered seeing it in years.

The young woman with the dark hair returned several minutes later and he hoped that he looked somewhat presentable with his healing wounds and bony body now hidden behind the clean, fresh-smelling fabric.

He stood several feet away from the woman as she held a bowl of steaming water and several cloths. She motioned him gently to come forward and sit on the chair she proffered to him. He could not hide his shock as he saw his reflection for the first time. 

His eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones pronounced, but most of his matted and knotty hair had been cut from his head at some point, along with his beard. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, he could almost fool himself into thinking that he looked human.

He glanced at the young woman and found an unspoken understanding growing between them. He caught sight of one of her wrists and the scarring that remained there, making it clear that she too had been held captive at some point in her life. Sitting him in front of the mirror meant that he could see what she was doing as she stood behind him. It was a gesture that was not lost on him and one that he appreciated.

“May I begin?” She asked softly, dipping a cloth into the water.

He took a breath to steady himself. He knew the woman would be gentle, but it had been years since he’d experienced such a thing. The idea of someone touching him with tenderness and compassion was foreign to him.

He nodded his head slowly as she gave him a warm smile.

“We can stop at any point, sir,” she told him softly. “I will ask your permission before I do anything.”

“My name,” he croaked, clearing his throat. “My name is Jorah.”

“I am Missandei,” the young woman said, running the wet cloth over his head before wringing the fabric out and repeating the process until his hair was completely damp.

“May I cut your hair?’ She asked, holding a small pair of scissors and a comb.

He nodded but flinched as the comb touched his scalp. He took another deep breath and looked at her through the reflection in the mirror, signalling that she could continue.

He watched the hair drop first to his shoulders and then to the floor as the kind young woman brushed the errant strands away with her hand. It took several minutes, but once she was finished, his hair was cut neatly around the nape of his neck and the rest combed back to one side of his head.

It took some time to realise that the person staring back was actually him. It had been so long since he’d seen his own face. Sensing he needed a moment, the young woman busied herself with collecting her belongings and placing them in the small leather pouch she’d brought into the room with her before making her way to the door.

“If you would like to follow me, I shall show you to the dining room.”

He stood still, wary as to what he would find outside the door. The whole place still seemed alien and foreign to him and shut away in the bedroom he felt slightly safer. Outside the door was a world unknown to him and he feared that he would not like what he found on the other side.

“If you are not ready,” the young woman said, “Miss Targaryen will not mind.”

The white-haired woman had shown him great kindness in taking him in and treating his wounds and so the least he could do was put his own fear to one side for an hour or so.

“No, I’m fine,” he said quietly, steeling his nerves. “Please, show me the way.”

He realised that she was keeping her pace deliberately slow as he hobbled behind her. His feet were still sore, and it would be some time before he would be able to move on them without limping or wincing. The doctor had told him he was lucky he still had all his toes; that the frostbite was severe, but that his feet would heal with time and the correct level of treatment.

He readjusted his shirt, trying to straighten out any creases as they came to a large and ornate oak door, which the dark-haired young lady knocked on softly. 

He heard the gentle ‘come in’ and hoped that he looked presentable enough to be in another person’s presence. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, glancing up for the briefest of moments to catch the way his kindly benefactor’s face lit up at the sight of him.

“Mr. Mormont,” the white-haired woman beamed. “Please come and join me at the table.”

He shuffled into the room, pulling out a chair at the far end of the table opposite his host.

“Please come closer so that we may talk as we eat.”

His eyes shot to the young woman who had cut his hair with such tenderness. She nodded her head in encouragement and smiled at him as he pulled out a chair that was closer, yet there was still a substantial gap between he and his host.

“Thank you, Missandei,” the white-haired woman said.

He suddenly felt awkward and unsure of himself now that it was just the two of them.

“I wasn’t sure what you might like and so I asked them to prepare a little bit of everything. Please, take as much as you would like.”

He shook his head.

“After you, ma’am.”

He watched as she scooped a large spoonful of scrambled egg onto her plate, along with two rounds of toast and butter.

“Would you like some coffee?” She asked as she poured herself a cup.

“Yes, please,” he replied, realising that it had been many years since he’d seen such a large amount of food. It made his stomach growl audibly and he opened his mouth to apologise only to be stopped by her gentle smile.

“I’m sure that you must be quite ravenous,” she said, watching as he carefully spooned food onto his plate. The way he handled the cutlery showed that he had once been a man of good breeding. His manners at the table were impeccable and far removed from what she would have expected from a homeless vagrant.

“How are you feeling?” The young woman asked, taking a bite of her eggs.

He swallowed the food in his mouth before answering.

“Much better, ma’am,” he replied, keeping his gaze on his plate.

“Please, there is no need for such formalities, call me Daenerys,” she said with a smile. “I have to tolerate it when in public but not at my own dining table.” 

They ate in silence for a number of moments.

“Doctor Tarly says that you are doing well.”

He froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. She would no doubt want to be rid of him now that he was recovered, and it seemed to take her some time to realise how he’d perceived her words.

“I am sorry for any inconvenience or expense I have caused you,” he said quietly, wiping gently at his mouth with a napkin.

“You have done nothing of the sort,” she replied quickly. “I owe you a great deal for saving my life.”

Her words made him feel uncomfortable. This beautiful young lady knew nothing about him…where he had been or the things that he’d done.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he replied quietly.

She gave him a pointed look. 

“We both know that to not be true,” she countered.

“As you say, ma’am,” he acquiesced, his head bowed in deference to her. 

“I would very much like for you to stay and when you are feeling up to it, I can show you around my home.”

He wasn’t sure why she was showing him such kindness, nor when her hospitality or patience with him might run out, but he already found himself wanting to spend more time in her presence. He didn’t know what it was that she wanted or expected of him, but it had been far too long since anyone had shown him any kindness and there was a warmth in her that he felt instantly drawn to.

He nodded his head, knowing that he would accept whatever she was willing to give to him for however long it might last.


	6. Jorah Mormont of Bear Island

“I have some information on our guest,” Barristan said as he stood before Daenerys’ desk, holding a file in his hand.

She gestured for her advisor to take a seat.

Barristan opened the file and handed over several sheets of paper to her. Her eyes widened when she saw the unmistakable likeness of the man in the pictures to the man currently residing in one of her guest bedrooms.

“This is him?” She asked, her eyes roaming across the page.

Barristan nodded.

“He was the Lord of a small house in the far North. A place called Bear Island.”

Daenerys pursed her lips. She’d only ever heard of the place and had never seen it with her own eyes. As her brother Viserys had told it, Bear Island was full of savages who laid with the island’s namesakes rather than other humans. She was no longer the naive little girl who believed such fanciful tales though, she had been through far too much to be taken in by such folly these days.

Besides, the way that Jorah Mormont held himself at the dining table the previous day spoke of good breeding and certainly not someone who was an uncouth and uncontrollable savage.

“What happened to him?” Daenerys asked quietly, a part of her fearing for what she might hear. Whatever had happened to leave him destitute and alone on the streets would no doubt be a sad tale indeed.

“The War of the Seven Kingdoms raged for decades and it seems that Mormont was a soldier as well as a lord,” Barristan continued. “Bear Island is one of the most northerly parts of Westeros and there were numerous bloody battles between Mormonts and the Iron Islands ruled by the Greyjoys.”

Barristan paused and handed her several more pages.

“Euron Greyjoy was a cruel man, convincing himself he was doing the Drowned God’s work by invading the islands beyond their own. From the information I can find, it seems that a raid on Bear Island resulted in the Greyjoys killing his father and taking our guest hostage. Not only was Jorah Mormont now their lord, but he was also one of their fiercest and most skilled fighters. It’s not certain how long he was held captive or what happened to him during that time, but I have seen the marks he bears on his flesh and it is likely that he was not treated kindly while at the mercy of Euron and his men. Information regarding fighting that far north of the mainland is patchy at best. I’ll keep reaching out to people I know, but in the meantime it may be better for you to ask the man himself.”

“I will take that under consideration, Barristan. Thank you,” Daenerys replied, looking back down at the papers on her desk, a clear signal to Barristan that their conversation was over and that he should leave the room. He did so and backed out quietly, leaving Daenerys to ponder on just what had happened to a man of some means that would leave him penniless and homeless on the streets.

* * *

He took in a deep breath as he stood on the balcony, feeling the cold air fill his lungs. It almost reminded him of home.

Almost.

Apart from following the kind young woman Missandei to the dining hall, the balcony adjoining his room was the furthest that Jorah ventured since he’d woken a few days ago. There was still so much that didn’t make sense to him, but there was one question he kept asking himself over and over again…

Why had a stranger taken him in and cared for him?

It was a question he’d been turning over in his mind since he woke this morning, and he was yet to find a suitable answer. He was a vagrant, a nobody, why had she expended so much time and energy on someone she didn’t even know?

“The grounds are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

The sound of her voice made him jump visibly. He had not heard anyone enter the room behind him. He stood still, his back to her and his shoulders stiff.

“May I join you?” She asked as she came out onto the balcony with him. “The evergreen trees,” she began, gazing out into the distance. “I’ve always liked the fact that they stand proud and tall, no matter the weather. There is a beauty in something that never dies, is there not?”

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, it had been years since he’d held a proper conversation with anyone. He learned quickly on the streets that nobody cared for your name or where you came from. If you were a person with money and a roof over your head, the homeless around you were all but invisible.

“There were fir trees for as far as the eye could see in my homeland,” he said, finally breaking the silence between them. “Even in the harshest winters they stood tall, despite the snow.”

Daenerys turned her head away and smiled, relieved that she had finally managed to make him speak more than a few words at a time.

“And where is your homeland, Jorah?”

She saw the way that he flinched visibly at her question.

“I have no homeland, ma’am,” he answered sadly. “Not anymore.”

“I spent most of my childhood in exile across the Narrow Sea,” she replied, hoping that sharing her own story would help her understand his a little better. Talking about his past was clearly something he was not comfortable with, but she knew that she had to try.

He looked at her in surprise but said nothing.

“We fled persecution and for many years it was only my brother and me. I was just a babe when Barristan spirited my brother and I away across the sea and to safety. We travelled from place to place and I always wondered what my homeland looked like. It seemed almost impossible to believe that I would ever see it, and yet here I am.”

He glanced back out to the gardens below them, holding the solid wall of the balcony as if it would give him the strength to keep standing under the weight of his own regrets.

“I could never return to my homeland, even if I wanted to,” he replied, although he was unsure as to why he felt compelled to keep talking to her. There was something about her that touched him and he felt less burdened by his guilt when he was with her. “Your home is beautiful, ma’am, but I will not outstay my welcome, though I am thankful for everything you’ve done for me.”

Her heart thumped painfully at the thought of this man walking out of her life so soon after they had first met.

“And where will you go?” She asked. “Where is home for you now?”

She already knew the answer to that question, his home was back out on the dirty and cold streets, sleeping in alleyways, hoping that the cold didn’t kill him in the middle of the night.

“My home is not here,” he said, sighing deeply. “You have gone to too much time and trouble to help me, but I will not be a burden to you any longer.”

He turned to walk back to the room, hoping that he would at least be able to keep the small amount of clothes she provided him with when he left.

She caught his left arm and held onto it gently until he turned to look at her. Her touch sent his heart racing as he forced down the feelings of hope that were threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t belong here. He never would.

“What skills do you have?” She asked. “What did you do before…” 

She stopped herself before she had said it, although he picked up on the meaning easily enough.

“I worked mainly with iron and wood,” he replied, standing next to her but avoiding her gaze. “Two things that were plentiful in my homeland.”

“Can you make horseshoes?” She asked, trying to keep the smile from her face.

He nodded his head, but still didn’t look at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then come and work for me,” she said, trying to keep her excitement under control at the thought of this man staying with her. Although she knew so little about him, she knew enough to see that he was a good man who had fallen on hard times. There was something about him being near that made her feel safe in a way that Grey or Barristan never could, despite their best efforts.

“I will pay you a fair wage and you may stay here under my roof…rent free. Anything you need will be provided for you. You only need to ask, and it shall be given,” she continued, looking at him hopefully.

“I could not ask such a thing of you,” he frowned. “You have been far too kind and generous towards me already and I have no way to repay you.”’

“I would be delighted if you would repay me by coming to work for me, Jorah,” she replied. “I have horses in my stables that need new shoes and plenty of fences and ironwork that needs fixing. You would be doing me a great service by saying yes…you may leave whenever you like, I will not force you to stay.”

She knew how important it was to let him know that he was not a prisoner or a hostage, now acutely aware of some of the darker parts of his history and she hoped it would be enough to convince him to stay.

She stood watching him for several moments as he weighed up her offer in his mind before he finally nodded his agreement.

She held his hands gently in hers, beaming at him.

“Thank you, Jorah Mormont. I promise that you will not regret this.”

Despite himself, he felt the first shoots of something like happiness begin to take root inside him at the way she looked at him as if he had given her the most precious gift in the world.


	7. A Tale As Old As Time

Still under the watchful eye of Doctor Samwell Tarly, Jorah was left at a loose end as to how to fill his days until the physician declared him fit enough to begin working for Daenerys Targaryen.

With the dressings on his wounds changed twice a day, his frostbitten feet were healing well and the doctor made what Jorah considered positive sounds when he asked how much longer it would be before he could walk around pain-free.

As the days passed the pain became a little less. His kind saviour Daenerys visited with him each day, showing him another part of her expansive home. There were numerous bedrooms and hallways in which many of her employees lived and worked, but Jorah kept to himself as much as possible and would only venture into such places in the company of Daenerys or her shy and gentle handmaiden Missandei.

With a belly full of food and warm, comfortable surroundings helping clear the fever from his mind, he couldn’t help but notice the looks the men guarding Daenerys gave him. The caramel-skinned young man who was always on her left had the strong gaze of a man who’d learned discipline at an early age, while the bearded, grey-haired man who always flanked her right side wore a distrustful scowl each time he passed by.

Far from being offended, Jorah was glad that the two men were wary of any perceived threats towards the woman they worked for and it wasn’t hard to see why she garnered such loyalty from her people. He had seen first-hand that she had a gentle heart.

Daenerys had once again requested his presence for breakfast in the dining hall and so he made his way towards the cavernous room, assuring Missandei that he could find his own way there when he saw her arms laden down with towels and fabrics.

Having travelled the same route several times before, Jorah was sure that he could find his way to the dining room with little trouble, yet he realised he must have taken a wrong turn at some point as he soon found himself in a huge library with books adorning every shelf for as far as his eyes could see.

The smell of the leather and paper took him back to a time when things were much simpler, reminding him of the much smaller library on Bear Island, where he would spend countless hours getting lost in book after book. Reading was such a simple pleasure and one he missed a great deal.

There were titles by every famous author he could think of and many more besides, far more books than any person could read in two lifetimes, let alone one. Unable to help himself, he ran a hand down the spine of a book on the shelf closest to him.

“You like to read?”

The sound of Daenerys’ voice took him by surprise. He would need to be more aware of his surroundings, especially when she was near.

He blushed slightly, removing his hand quickly and bowing his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I must have taken a wrong turn on my way to the dining room. I should not be in here.”

He moved to leave the room but stopped when she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“I’m glad that you found the library, it was next on my list of things to show you, but I wasn’t sure if you were a man who liked to read.”

He gave her a shy smile.

“As soon as I was big enough to hold a book in my hands, my mother taught me to read.”

He felt his cheeks flush again, unsure as to why he was revealing so much of himself to her. He had spent years building a wall around his heart and yet this young woman was breaking it down, brick by brick.

“There is nothing better than losing yourself in a good story, wouldn’t you agree?” She asked him.

“Aye,” he replied, looking wistfully at the books on the shelf.

“Would you like to borrow some of them?”

The question caught him off guard.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you,” he replied quickly.

“Books should be read, not left on shelves to collect dust,” she said, picking out a particular title from the shelf and handing it to him. “I have only read a relatively small number of the books in here and many of them I inherited from my ancestors. It would be nice to share the load with someone and perhaps you could also recommend a few to me?”

He looked up at her briefly, knowing that if he looked upon her for too long that he would get lost in those beautiful eyes of hers.

“If it pleases you, ma’am,” he replied.

She smiled at him and squeezed his arm gently.

“It would, very much. I’ll have a selection sent to your room,” she continued as he followed her from the room and towards the dining hall. “Doctor Tarly informs me that it may be a few more days before you’re fully recovered and I’m sure having a book or two to pass the time will help.”

Reading would help keep his mind occupied and away from the memories that would swallow him whole if he was not careful. It would fill his waking hours at least and stop the demons from haunting him in the harsh light of day.

He knew that she had already seen the marks on his back and Missandei showed that she was aware that he’d been mistreated at some point by the way she helped to take care of his hair and beard.

Daenerys would not want to keep a man around who was scared of his own shadow or so consumed by the horrors of his past that he couldn’t be trusted to hold down a simple job. She had asked him to make horseshoes and take on a little woodwork. She wasn’t asking him to enter the field of battle or wield weapons that could cleave a man clean in half. They had treated him with nothing but gentleness and care, there was no need for him to be afraid.

As much as he wished he could put the horrors of the past behind him, there were things he’d witnessed in his life that a man never forgets, no matter how long he lives. That was partly the reason he found himself on the streets in the first place, but it would do no good to revisit those memories now. The best he could hope for was to put them to one side while he did his best to get back on his feet. 

Daenerys insisted that he could stay in her home for as long as he pleased, but he would only stay until he had enough money to be able to find a home of his own. He might have belonged in this kind of world long ago, but too much time had passed, and he was no longer the same man he was before. Too many things had happened and his fall from grace was so steep that he would never be able to climb back up, no matter how hard he clawed at the mountain before him.

Time was fleeting and Daenerys, sweet girl that she was, would perhaps find another waif or stray to show kindness to. There were too many people like him out there, thousands of people who needed a helping hand to get back on their feet and he would not stand in the way of the kind young woman showing the same mercy to someone else just like him.

But for now, her attention seemed to be solely on him, and he would enjoy being in her presence for as long as she was willing to share it with him.


	8. The Silence of the Night

_He sat alone in the darkness, feeling the biting touch of iron clamped around his wrists. His captors cared little for his comfort and had left him shivering and barely-clothed in the dark._

_He realised it was a trap all too late and was helpless as he watched Euron Greyjoy kill his father in cold blood. Those krakens had no honour among them and struck his father down when he was weaponless and helpless._

_It was no way for such a brave warrior to die._

_His captors enjoyed taunting him as they beat him to the point of unconsciousness, dragging him back towards their islands to hold him hostage._

_The krakens tried several times to make him talk, to give details of battle plans, but his mouth had stayed clamped shut. No matter what they did to him, he would not utter a word. He would never betray his people. Better that death claimed him than to lose his honour._

_The beatings were a daily occurrence and the meagre amount of food and water they gave him was for one reason only - they wanted to keep him alive, but for what purpose he wasn’t sure._

_When the beatings didn’t work, his captors resorted to more painful methods. Tying him down, they burned, branded and flayed him until he wanted to scream, but still he said nothing._

_He would never betray his people._

_When those methods no longer worked, they resorted to holding his head in the freezing cold water until he was sure he would drown. They kept him awake for days on end, always jolting him from the brink of sleep to bring him painfully back to awareness. The lack of sleep left him delirious and disorientated until he no longer knew up from down or right from left._

_He knew he would die here and prayed that it would be quick. He had no idea how long he’d been held captive for, but no one was going to come to his rescue, of that he was sure. He would find a way to end his own life if his captors refused to do it themselves._

_He tried once, refusing to drink any water they offered him, but they pinned him down and forced it down his throat in the end. They would not let him die until they were good and ready, though he questioned why they were keeping him alive at all. He was the heir of a small House with little political power, no other House would come riding to the rescue of the Mormonts. Bear Island had little in what the rest of Westeros considered riches._

_His only hope was that by being held prisoner that his aunt and cousins would be left alone. If they had any sense, they would flee the island and head for the safety of Winterfell to seek refuge and political asylum there._

_He felt his eyes growing heavier through exhaustion as his head dipped towards his chest only for them to shoot open at the sound of screaming and the distinctive sound of steel on steel..._

Jorah shot up in bed, his chest heaving as he tried to take in air. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, it took several seconds for him to realise that he was no longer a prisoner in a cold and dirty cell, and that he was in the safety of Daenerys Targaryen’s opulent house.

He looked around quickly, hoping that he had not called out in his sleep. It would not look good if he had to explain himself to one of her people. Only Missandei was likely to understand that the demons followed him into the night as much as his regrets followed him throughout the day.

He screwed his eyes shut and wiped the sweat from his brow, willing his hands to stop shaking. It was just a dream; it couldn’t hurt him…

And yet those memories were real. He remembered the night so clearly, so deeply that it was etched on his mind. He would never forget that night for as long as he lived, of that he was certain.

Sleep would likely evade him for some hours yet, so he pulled on clothes and quietly left the room Daenerys had provided him, silently making his way down the corridors in search of the cold night air to jolt the memory from his mind, for a little while at least.

He passed a few guards on his way around the house, but none of them seemed to pay him much mind as he walked around. Daenerys made a point of showing him around her home and the grounds surrounding it and had likely instructed her guards to let him walk freely around them.

The guard at the rear door said nothing as he opened it and stood aside, allowing Jorah to walk out into the darkness. The moonlight shone on the gardens, casting them in an ethereal glow, the only sound was that of the wildlife hiding in the bushes and trees. He found their presence calming, feeling the tension from his shoulders bleeding away with each breath he took of the cold night air.

“Trouble sleeping?”

He flinched slightly at the sound of her voice as he once again found himself caught off guard by her. She had a way of coming up behind him and catching him unaware.

“I am sorry if I disturbed you,” he said, keeping his gaze ahead, although that was probably considered rude and a sign of disrespect, but he knew he would easily find himself getting lost in her eyes given half the chance.

She moved to stand beside him.

“Not at all,” she replied. “It is nice to have someone else who is a night person,” she said with a smile.

He frowned and hoped she couldn’t see his expression. He was only a night person because the horrors of his past refused to let him go. He couldn’t tell her that though and he doubted she would be interested in his tale of woe anyway.

“I’ve always enjoyed the silence of the night,” she continued. “How everything slows down and comes to a halt, as if the world is resting and recharging for the long day ahead. There’s something quite soothing about it and somehow my troubles seem less in the dark.”

He nodded his head but said nothing.

“What troubles you, Jorah?”

His eyes widened in surprise, no one had cared for him or his troubles in so very long. He’d become far too used to being a commodity to be traded, his only worth being in the skills he had with his hands. Even Lynesse had not cared for his troubles, only his money.

“I would not want to burden you with such things, ma’am,” he answered quietly.

“Surely a burden is more easily carried when the load is shared?”

She would not want any part of the weight he bared. He knew that for certain.

“Barristan tells me your home was on Bear Island.”

He couldn’t help the gasp of shock that escaped his lips as he finally looked at her. The blood drained from his face when he realised that the bearded man might have told Daenerys the whole sordid tale of how he could never return home again.

“He told me about the fighting between your people and the Greyjoys,” she continued.

“What else did he tell you?” He asked, trying to keep his tone even.

“That is where his story ends, but I care little for Barristan’s story, I want to hear yours, Jorah,” she said, taking his hands in her own and giving them a gentle squeeze.

He tried to look away from her.

“It is not a pretty story to tell and I am afraid you’ll think less of me for it,” he replied. 

“I will not force you to tell me your story, but I hope one day that you will comfortable enough to let me ease your burden,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. “I realise that you are in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by people you barely know, and that trust has to be earned. I only hope that someday I will earn yours.”

There was something about this woman that made him want to confess his whole life story to her, but he had been fooled by a pretty face and pretty words before and they had left him shattered and broken.

“You have been much too kind and patient with me already, ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat. “I cannot make promises that I do not know if I can keep, but I promise you that I shall try.”

“That is all I ask,” she said, her smile lighting her whole face as he found his own spirits raised a little higher just by being in her presence.


	9. A Stallion's Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you can guess which recent Disney+ film this chapter may be based on...

“And these are the stables,” Daenerys smiled as she led Jorah toward her horses.

He took in a lungful of the fresh air, glad to be discharged from the watchful eye of Doctor Samwell Tarly. Now sufficiently recovered to begin working for the rich young woman, Jorah was keen to repay her kindness as quickly as possible. His time here would be limited, and he would need to make enough coin to be able to settle somewhere new, away from here.

He looked the horses over, not surprised that they were the finest mares and stallions he’d ever laid eyes on. The stables themselves were a little shabby and could do with some remedial work and Jorah’s mind went immediately to counting the amounts of wood and iron needed to bring them back to good order.

“You are familiar with horses, I take it?” Daenerys asked, running her hand gently up and down a black stallion’s nose.

Horses were one of the only ways to access the more remote parts of Bear Island and he’d learned how to ride a horse as soon as he’d learned to walk. Bear Island didn’t have much in the way of riches, but it had some of the bravest, most loyal horses in the whole of Westeros.

At least that’s what a Bear Islander believed.

Others might have sniffed and looked down their nose at the island’s livestock, dismissing their long manes and stocky build as poor breeding, but the horses of Bear Island had the strength and stamina of ten of their counterparts from the mainland. Bear Island horses were as fierce and unyielding as their riders.

“Aye,” Jorah replied, shaking himself from his thoughts. There was no time for reminiscing nor regrets, neither of which would change his past. “You have some fine stock here.”

“I should probably not have favourites,” Daenerys said, with a guilty smile. “But these three have been with me the longest. I’m not sure I would ever have made it across the Narrow Sea without them.”

His eyes followed her as she made her way to where a white stallion stood. The beast immediately took a step back and bared its teeth to her.

“This is Viserion,” she said, seemingly paying no mind to the horse’s reaction to her. “He’s always had a temper. Barristan claims he is too wild to be tamed,” she said regretfully. “He needs new shoes making, but no one has been able to get near enough to remove his old ones, let alone craft new ones.”

Jorah eyed the horse carefully, being mindful of not spooking the poor animal as he approached.

“Some beasts can never be tamed, no matter how much love or care you give them,” Jorah answered, holding his hand out to the white stallion.

The horse kicked its front legs several times, letting out loud snorts of air through its nostrils, all too used to having humans back away from him in fear.

Jorah stood his ground, keeping his hand outstretched until finally the horse leaned towards it and rubbed itself on his palm, neighing quietly.

Daenerys watched on in awe and wished Barristan were here to see this. Much like he had been about Viserion, Barristan was wary and suspicious of the man Daenerys had taken in. They had already exchanged cross words when Daenerys offered Jorah a job and a roof over his head, with Barristan claiming that she did not know enough about the man she was opening up her home to.

It was Barristan’s job to be wary and suspicious, but she was not some silly little girl who did not know what she was doing. She knew her own mind and did as she pleased and if Barristan didn’t like it, well, he could look for another job as far as Daenerys was concerned.

“Be careful,” she cautioned as she watched Jorah slowly undo the bolt on the stable door. Just because Viserion was acting docile at the moment did not mean that he would stay that way once Jorah moved towards him.

“Easy,” Jorah crooned, creeping forward slowly and keeping his palms open where the horse could see them.

The eyes of the white stallion followed him as he moved further into the stable.

“Take it easy boy,” Jorah said, slowly kneeling down to inspect the front legs of the horse by sight alone. He sucked in a breath when he saw the state of the stallion’s hooves. “They must hurt, hey?” Jorah said gently. “Nice and easy,” he crooned as he slowly reached out for one of its front legs.

Daenerys found herself holding her breath, terrified that if she moved even a centimetre she would spook the horse. Jorah would be too close to the stallion’s feet to move out of the way if the horse decided to start kicking.

It wasn’t just fear that kept her holding her breath. In the several years that she had the three horses, she had never seen anyone have the effect that Jorah did on Viserion. 

She named the horse after her brother, a man who was quick to anger and strike out anyone who dared to cross him. Rhaegal was perhaps the gentlest of the three, while Drogon, her massive black stallion, was loyal to only one rider - her.

Many had tried to approach Viserion and all of them had failed to bring him to heel. Viserion would not be ridden or tamed, even Daenerys felt his wrath when she attempted to mount him once.

Perhaps she should have gotten rid of the horse when she had the chance, but she could not bear to separate Viserion from his brothers and as difficult and uncontrollable as the horse was, she loved him regardless. These three horses had been with her the longest and they had faced all kinds of adversities together, so if regular food and a warm stable was all that Viserion was willing to take from her, so be it.

She watched in awe as Jorah inspected each hoof of Viserion before slowly climbing to his feet and backing out of the stable. While the horse did not exactly look happy to have had someone in his stall, he’d tolerated Jorah’s touch with barely a reaction to any of it.

“He needs four new shoes and perhaps a vet should take a look at his legs,” Jorah said as he gently slid the stable door bolt across, securing the seemingly wild animal in its stall.

“I have never seen him react like that to anyone,” she said, genuinely shocked by Viserion seeming almost placid around Jorah. “He’s kicked many who tried to touch him before.”

“He’s feisty thing,” Jorah replied, wiping his hands on a piece of rag tucked into the back of his trousers. “He’s got a wild stallion’s spirit, that’s for sure.”

“Do you think you could break him?”

Daenerys couldn’t help herself at the thought that someone might finally be able to tame the wild beast who had scared many an accomplished and experienced rider away.

“An animal shouldn’t be broken or tamed,” Jorah frowned. “We have no right to treat it against its will.”

“You’re right,” she replied, suitably chastened by his words, knowing that the man who stood before her had been held and treated against his will. Perhaps he knew better than anyone how it felt to be under the control of someone or something else.

It seemed to take Jorah several moments to realise how his words sounded to the woman who had been nothing but kind and generous towards him. 

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said quickly, his gaze dropping to the ground in deference to her. “I should not have spoken out of turn.”

He tried to leave the stables but stopped when she reached out and took his arm gently to halt any further movement.

“You only speak the truth,” she said, trying to ease his conscience. “It has been some time since anyone has challenged my thinking,” she said ruefully. 

“Still, it is not my place,” he insisted.

“You are a wise man,” she said, looking him up and down and appraising him. “I feel I have much to learn from you.”

Barristan watched the other man leave the stables having only heard the last part of the conversation between he and his employer, but it was enough to make him frown.

Daenerys seemed taken with the homeless man, but Barristan was far too long in the tooth to take anyone merely at face value and perhaps there was something much darker lurking behind the seemingly reticent visage of Jorah Mormont. 

Either way, he was determined to find out.


	10. Ghosts of the Past

Jorah Mormont sat on a wooden bench overlooking parts of the lush gardens, paper and pencil in hand.

The weather was still chilly but each day during his lunch break he would find the same spot, which turned out to be the quietest in the grounds surrounding Daenerys Targaryen’s stately home.

He craved the peace and quiet for the few moments he could find away from others and their searching eyes. He knew that people were talking about him and could tell from the looks they sent his way that they were unsure if he was a danger to them or not.

Daenerys had been nothing but welcoming and kind to him, but her right-hand man, Barristan, eyed him with a sense of suspicion from the moment he woke from his fever. The man made a number of sly comments and Jorah wasn’t so foolish to think that Barristan wasn’t looking into his past and the events that had led him to this point.

A part of him was glad that Daenerys had someone so diligent in his role as protector and knew that given half a chance, he would have done exactly the same if he were in Barristan’s position.

Lady Missandei had also been kind to him and did not say a word when he asked for some paper and pencils. She merely smiled and told him they would be in his room when he returned to his quarters that evening. 

He felt a kind of kinship with the young woman and from the scars on her arms and the gentle way she had cut his hair, he knew that she too had been held captive against her will at some point and he wondered if she also suffered from night terrors just as he did.

He hoped not. Missandei was a kind young woman who didn’t deserve to be haunted by such horrors.

He shook himself from his reverie and glanced down at sketch he was working on. He frowned when he looked at the dragon’s head he had just drawn. There was something about its dimensions that didn’t seem right. Compared to the other two heads he’d sketched, something looked off about the third one and it was important that he got it right. He screwed the piece of paper up and stuffed it into his pocket before trying again. 

The idea came to him after spending an evening in Daenerys’ huge library a few nights ago. He found himself being drawn to the history books and getting lost in a large tome chronicling the histories of Westeros and Essos hundreds of years ago.

He wasn’t one to put too much stock in fanciful notions such as magic, undead ghouls and dragons, but the book was compelling reading and he found himself unable to put it down, so much so that he asked to take the large book back to his room to continue reading it.

At least reading proved to be a distraction from the horrors of his own past and there were several nights when he had fallen asleep reading the book. It even generated one or two strange dreams, the last of which left him gasping for breath as he shot up in bed.

In his dream he had been a knight dressed in armour standing alongside Daenerys as she commanded her three dragons to take flight across the skies. The Daenerys of his dreams was the same as the one who had taken him in from the streets and it was clear to see that this version of himself had a strong, almost unbreakable bond with the Daenerys of his dreams.

He’d woken quickly from his dream with a strange name on his lips:

Khaleesi.

Perhaps he read it in the history book before falling asleep, but he could not get the word out of his mind, neither could he rid himself of the symbol of a three-headed dragon. He hoped that by sketching it on paper he could put it out of his mind for a while.

Working in the forge proved to be a good distraction during the day, yet he was lying to himself if he said his mind was wholly on the task at hand this morning. The repetitive motion of hammering iron into horseshoes was something he could do with his eyes closed, but his mind had wandered several times this morning and he was fortunate he hadn’t hammered his own hand, given how distracted he was.

He would soon need to head back to the forge and hoped that Barristan would not be there when he returned. It was the appearance of the grey-haired man that caused him to take an early lunch break in the first place.

Barristan approached him just as he was dipping a smouldering hot horseshoe into cold water and was hardly subtle in his questioning techniques, especially when Barristan asked him if he’d ever forged weapons before.

Of course he had, it was the one thing that kept coin in his pocket and a roof over his head as he travelled away as far from Bear Island as he could. Where there was war there was work for a man like him, but when peace prevailed, there were too many men and not enough jobs to go around.

Not that he would tell Barristan any of that. If he answered any questions regarding his past, he would answer them to Daenerys, not her guard dog.

“I had a feeling that I might find you here.”

He looked up to find Daenerys standing beside him and it was alarming how well she seemed to know his habits already.

He moved to stand up but was stopped by her hand.

“I should be back at the forge,” he said quietly as she sat next to him on the bench.

“I am not a prison guard, Jorah. You are allowed to take as many breaks as you want.” She immediately corrected herself upon realising her poor choice of words and the look that crossed his face. “My apologies,” she said blushing slightly. “I appear to always say the wrong thing.”

“It is no bother,” he replied hastily, trying to put her at ease. “I know there is no malice within you.”

She gave him a wry smile.

“Oh, I can be downright horrible to anyone who crosses me,” she said with a devilish glint in her eye. “Not many have crossed me twice and those that do are fools.”

He had no doubt that would be true, especially after his dream the night before. In it, Daenerys was a powerful queen whose armies conquered Westeros with fire and blood. Although it was purely a figment of his imagination, he knew that behind her gentle smile stood a fearsome young woman with a hidden inner strength.

“Are Viserion’s shoes almost ready?” She asked, wanting to change the subject to something less awkward.

“Aye,” he answered, shuffling and folding the paper in his hands, hoping she hadn’t seen what was drawn on it. “I left them to cool at the forge. They should be ready for fitting by the end of the day.”

“Will you fit them please?” She asked, looking at him hopefully. “You seem to be the only one he responds well to.”

He nodded his head.

“Of course, ma’am. I hope that you will find my work of good quality.”

She smiled at him again.

“I have no doubt of that, Jorah.”

He found himself looking at her as their eyes met. There was something about her that drew him in from the moment he met her. His heart soared as she continued to smile at him, even more so when her eyes darted towards his lips. He could feel something growing between them…

“Ma’am, I have news from the Starks,” Barristan called out from several feet away.

Jorah got to his feet quickly, excusing himself from her presence, mumbling that he needed to return to the forge.

Jorah was several paces away by the time Daenerys responded, but a screwed-up piece of paper caught her eye as she half-listened to Barristan as he relayed information from the North to her.

She nodded her head as she unfolded the paper and her eyes widened when they fell on the three-headed dragon symbol drawn upon it.


	11. Beneath the Surface

_He found himself being dragged from his cell in the middle of the night._

_They placed a sack over his head, yanking him by his arms. He had no idea of where they were taking him or what they were planning to do with him._

_After what seemed like hours, he was dropped to the floor. It was then that he could smell the salt from the sea and hear the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore._

_He winced at the moonlight as Euron Greyjoy ripped away the sack and stood over him._

_Greyjoy was a sick and twisted man who killed his own brother to take the Iron Islands as his own. Once he had claimed the Salt Throne, he’d set his eyes on Bear Island and the plentiful resources it had to offer._

_Bear Island was rich in iron and wood, both of which Euron needed in order to build a fleet large enough to cause fear throughout the mainland of Westeros._

_“Well, hello there, little lord,” Euron taunted him as he felt himself grabbed by the hair._

_He said nothing and stared into the eyes of the man who had killed his father._

_Jeor Mormont was the one true Lord of Bear Island._

_But the Lord of Bear Island was dead, and his heir captured by the krakens who coveted their lands and resources._

_He felt himself being pushed to the ground once more._

_“You know, I expected better from the Lord of Bear Island,” Euron sneered. “At least your father had some fight in him…until I put my sword through his gut.”_

_He closed his eyes and willed the tears not to fall._

_“What are you waiting for?” He growled out, finally looking at his captor and tormentor. “Kill me and get it over with.”_

_Euron barked out a laugh._

_“Kill you, little lord?” He said as his men began laughing with him. “You’re my bait for those little she-bears. Sooner or later, they’ll come for you and when they do I’ll have them right where I want them.”_

_He screwed his eyes shut, praying that Maege and her daughters would sacrifice him to save themselves._

_“I want show you exactly what I’m going to do to each one of those bitches…”_

_He felt himself being dragged closer to the shore and was helpless as Euron Greyjoy held his head under the water._

_“Time for you to pay your respects to the Drowned God, little lord.”_

So lost in memories of the past, Jorah didn’t feel the pain of the sharp metal implement entering his flesh at first.

Dropping the tool, he looked at his palm as blood began welling to the surface. 

Daenerys had asked that he build her a new set of drawers for one of the many bedrooms in her house and he had been working on sawing and smoothing the wood for it since the early morning light.

It was much easier to hide away in the forge or the overhang where the wood and saws were stored. Spending his time in the darkest corners of the large, expansive house was better than having to bear the questioning looks many of Daenerys’ staff gave him as they passed him either in the gardens or in the long hallways and corridors of the house.

“Jorah?” a woman’s voice called out. 

He recognised it instantly - Daenerys.

How did she always seem to be close by?

He tried to hide his injured hand, but she had already seen it.

“What happened?” She asked, taking his hand gently to get a better look at it.

“I….uh…” he stuttered. “The tool slipped.”

She looked up at him.

“I’ll send for Doctor Tarly to come and take a look at it.”

Jorah shook his head, holding up his other hand in supplication.

“Please, there is no need. It will be fine.”

She gave him a questioning look.

“It does not look fine, Jorah, “she replied. “At least come to the kitchens and let me clean and bandage it for you.”

He shook his head and tried to pull his hand away.

“I can see to it myself, ma’am.”

She gave him a look that spoke of her steely determination and reminded him of Dacey, his beloved cousin who had more steel in her than many a man he’d met in his life.

He conceded and followed Daenerys quietly to the kitchens, keeping his head bowed as he listened to her instructing one of the kitchen maids to bring water and strips of fresh cloth to her.

“You should not trouble yourself with this,” Jorah said as Daenerys motioned for him to sit on a stool so that she could take a better look at the wound. “A lady of your standing should not lower herself to such things.”

The look she gave him made his heart clench painfully.

“Perhaps I am tired of people treating me like a queen,” she said quietly, nodding her thanks to the maid who backed out of the room silently after bringing her employer the requested items. “All people ever see is my position and power. I fear that my people are scared of me.”

He knew all too well how that felt. Since his fall from grace, people treated him either with suspicion or hostility – usually a mix of both. All they saw was a homeless wretch who deserved no pity or kindness. He was no longer a human being to those whose eyes fell upon his wretched form.

Yet she was treating him with such tenderness and care, and it was a sensation that had been alien to him for too long. She looked past his outward appearance and saw the man beneath who was still in there, somewhere…

“You have a gentle heart,” he told her, continuing to watch her work as she gently dabbed at the wound on his hand, before reaching for a length of cloth to bind it with. “You have to be strong for your people, but strength is not the same as fear. Your people stay because you care for them as they do for you.”

“And who cares for you, Jorah?” She questioned him, securing the cloth bandage over his wound and surveying her handiwork.

He dropped his eyes to the ground when he realised that the answer was ‘no one’. Any family he once had were dead. He’d fooled himself into believing that Lynesse could fill that hole for him, but she had left him to his fate and even worse off than he’d been before.

No one had cared for him since and certainly not a woman.

“What do you see when you look at me?” She asked.

He glanced up at her and studied her face before answering.

“I see a beautiful, courageous young woman who inspires love and loyalty in those that follow her. I see a woman who is far stronger than she knows and there are also times when I look at you and I can’t quite believe that you are real.”

His gaze was penetrating, but not uncomfortable. It felt as if he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that existed at that very moment.

She took both of his hands in hers and leaned towards him so that he had no choice but to look her in the eye.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you, sir?” She asked him, gazing into those blue eyes that she always found herself getting lost in. “I see a man who makes me feel safer than anyone else ever has. I see a man who looks past my titles and my history and sees the woman inside. I see a good man who has fallen on hard times - “

“You know little about my past and it is a story that I’m afraid for you to hear, lest you hate me for it.”

“And I hope that you will feel comfortable to tell me those things in time for whatever you did or whoever you were before, you are clearly not that same man now.”

He swallowed deeply as they continued to look at each other. He found himself being drawn to her as they both leaned forwards and closed the distance between them, so that their foreheads were almost touching.

“Ma’am,” Barristan called out from the doorway.

Jorah scooted back in his stool quickly, putting distance between himself and the woman he had almost kissed.

He saw her look away from him reluctantly and tried to quell the feeling of hope that Daenerys would not regret how close they had been only moments ago.

“Ma’am, we’ve had word from the Tyrells.”

“Can’t it wait?” She asked, not wanting to leave Jorah’s side.

“I’m afraid I need to speak with you urgently, ma’am.”

The look she gave him left Jorah hoping that he had not overstepped the mark with the beautiful young woman who had saved his life. Despite only knowing her for a number of weeks, he felt drawn to her more than he had anyone else in his life.


End file.
